It’s a gorgeous day. I wobble out to the car with Mom and the nurse-in-training who took my vitals this morning. I was tentative to let her “experiment” on me, but I trusted that she had had enough training to know what she was doing. I hadn’t keeled over yet, so I guess she did. We take the elevator down to the first floor, leaving behind all the hospital beds and IVs and entering into the playful-looking main lobby of Levine Children’s Hospital. It has color everywhere and toys scattered among the chairs. I remember when I was first wheeled in here, and people in the lobby stared at me. I had wondered if I looked that bad. We break out of the hospital and into the sunshine. It feels so warm and beautiful it feels foreign. If two days in the hospital do this to a person, I can’t imagine how people feel that stay in there for weeks.
I sit with the nurse and make awkward idle chat while Mom gets the car. I’m loaded in and wave good-bye to the nurse, who waves back, the promptly returns to the hospital to go “experiment” on some other poor soul. The windows down, we roll through uptown Charlotte with the sun pouring into the window, onto my pale skin and on my face. It feels like it’s healing me just by its touch. It’s better medicine than anything the doctors and nurses could have given me. I see people walking, going about their business on this Sunday afternoon. I’m going home. I’m really going home. I start planning what I’m going to do when I get there. I’m going to go up to my room. I’m going to take a shower- the first I’ve had in days. I’m going to have a few Ritz crackers and water and sit on the porch to read some in Jane Eyre. I let the sunshine kiss my face. Oh Lord, you are so good to me. So, so good to me…
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